The Passion
by Byzantia
Summary: Conspiracies and secrets abound in Weyard, and it's up to a vengeful werewolf and a whimsical musician to figure out exactly what is going on. Warning: HEAVY predictions on many subjects abound.
1. I

_()()()_

I

_Great tragedies have a way of shaping our lives._

-Nakra the Wise, c. 125-174 AS

_()()()_

The wind whistled over Air's Rock. Small rodents, wary of the midday sun, darted into shadowy crevices and caves, while reptiles lay in repose in the warm light. Plants, clinging for their lives to the stone, bowed their branches to the sky and begged for rain. Somewhere on the rock, a great eagle cried in triumph at catching his lunch.

On a solitary ledge, hidden beneath a cliff, was a small hut. It was typical for Osenian peasantry - straw and grass woven together, cemented to the ground with mud. An open doorway and a small window allowed the dry breeze in.

A figure emerged from the house, shielding his eyes from the sunlight. He carried in his teeth a bucket, beaten up and dented from years of use. Stretching slightly, the figure got on all fours and padded behind the house. His name was Mahel, son of Maha the Learned, and he was one of the unlucky.

Mahel placed the bucket under a stalactite, where a steady stream of water gushed out from the inside of the sacred mountain. Watching the bucket slowly fill up with cool, clear liquid, he thought pensively back to that terrible day, thirty years ago. Oh, what a normal day it had seemed to be! The people of Garoh had been doing their usual preparations for the full moon, which had been inching higher and higher in the sky. Mahel - then only a boy of nine - had the job of setting up signs and a false path leading through the Devil's Gate - a small canyon west of Garoh - into the desert, long enough to get any potential travelers out of harm's way until daybreak. Maha had seemed uneasy that day, constantly glancing at the sky, glaring hard at the moon and sun.

"What's wrong, Papa?" Mahel had asked cheerfully.

"The sky... it is moving slowly today," his father had answered. "Something is going to happen. Put out the signs and get back here quick."

Mahel also looked at the sky, but it had just looked like plain old sun and rising moon to him. The stars might be out a couple hours early, but who cared? Not Mahel, and probably none of the villagers either. Only Maha seemed to notice these things.

The young lycanthrope had hoisted the two baskets of signs, painted with lies like _Town of Andula This Way!_ and _Oasis in 2.7 Miles!, _onto his back, and carried them out of the village. Mahel had taken the sunny route, which was definitely longer, to absorb some heat before the long night began, but for some reason, each ray of light had seemed as chill as ice. Curiously, Mahel had dipped into a patch of shadow - and had felt heat flood his body again. Weird! Mahel had liked it like this, and soon had started dipping in and out, in and out, of the shadows and sun, forgetting his father's warning.

By the time he reached the Devil's Gate, he had stopped feeling affected by the coolness of the sunlight, and started leisurely plunking the signs down. Skipping down the canyon, placing signs and posters intermittently, he remembered how Maha had told him that, if he did his job well continuously, he might get to be one of the 'real wolves' who got to scare away any visitors who actually got to Garoh. How cool would that be, for a job - scaring people away from your village? Protecting your people?

Mahel hadn't been able to help himself, and he sprinted out into the open desert, howling all the way, dropping the signs in the sand. Who cared? He could blame it on a stray Venus Djinn in the morning.

The boy had reached the top of a grass-covered dune, and had been looking down at the rest of the desert surrounding Air's Rock. He'd always wanted to climb that giant, beautiful stone, such sheer cliffs and amazing views of nearly all of Osenia. Here, he was barely a fourth as tall as the giant relic, the surrounding dry hills and desert dwarfed by the immensity of Air's Rock.

And then the icy sun seemed to explode. To his west, a purple beam of light exploded from the continent Atteka and shot northeast. From Gondowan came an earth-colored pillar of light; from Imil in Northern Angara, an icy blue stream that spat snow across its path. And far, far to the north of Imil, a red light shone in the northerly darkness, cutting across the ice, flames spiraling out from its sides.

Mahel had cursed himself and cursed himself again for not running. For not recognizing such danger when it stared him in the face, for not springing to the base of the Air's Rock and hiding from the Elemental Lighthouses' pure, Psynergetic power. Instead, he had stood there like an idiot, watching in awe as the colors arced across the sky.

They crashed into each other in central Angara, the collision shaking Weyard to its core. Mahel fell to his feet, dropping the rest of the signs and staring in awe at the Golden Sun. The colors swirled around each other, a whirling nexus of light that turned from red, to blue, to purple, to brown, to gold. Gold - it permeated the old, decrepit light of sunset, filled the sky with a golden shine, and grasped Mahel in sacred warmth. The boy sighed in utter comfort, swathed in a blanket of heat. Then suddenly, he felt it, the change all lycanthropes dreaded. Fur grew along his arms, his face, his muzzle. His body began to change, lengthen, and his hands, increasingly furrier, fell down to the sand, unaccustomed to holding him up for so long. The golden light sped up the process, and soon Mahel was a full wolf, and one much bigger than he usually was. Was this the effects of the Golden Sun, he thought to himself?

And then the pain. Searing pain, rippling up his shoulders and down his paws, through his head and tail. Pain, pain, pain, nothing else but burning pain on his fur. Pain. It wouldn't go away, it _never_ hurt this much to change, what was happening to him?

When it was over, when the pain had subsided and the golden light dissipated, he lay, a prone figure on the hill, for many days. Blowing over him were the grains of Air's Rock, dislodged by the catastrophic Golden Sun event. Hundreds, thousands, flew over him, lightly touching his fur, imbuing him with the power of Jupiter. When Mahel would awaken, he would still be a wolf, many days after the full moon had passed. And so he would remain, a wolf, forever and for always. . .

Water splashed over onto his paw, waking Mahel from his day-nightmare. He had forgotten about the bucket again, and here he was senselessly wasting precious drinking water. A brave lizard licked the liquid from the ground, inches from his paws. Toggling the stalactite slightly, he closed up the passage, leaving the water to build up for the next time he needed it.

Mahel concentrated, and a small, controlled whirlwind sprouted from the ground. Picking up the bucket for him, it flew to his hut's window, leaving dust in its wake. Tired from a long, sleepless night, the Jupiter adept padded to the edge of the ledge. Rising in the distance, pulsating over the ruins of Mount Aleph, was the light which he so hated. The light which he prayed would one day be plunged into darkness, punishment for murdering his identity like this, for ostracizing him from his people, from his father.

"Look what you have done to me!" he roared to the Golden Sun, and the earth seemed to tremble like it did thirty years ago.

_()()()_

Vande stared, unimpressed, at the young human before him.

All around him, the peaceful village of Kolima was rebuilding itself. The villagers had been quick to learn that the monsters of the Eclipse couldn't climb trees, and had built a small camp in the middle of the maze of branches, far away from their tree homes, remaining there until the impenetrable shadow had lifted. When Vande was sent by Queen Sveta to check on the villagers, the boy had immediately introduced himself, telling him that he wished to be the beastman's apprentice. He hailed from the Hesper Sea, and had been plying his trade as a bard in Kolima when the Eclipse hit. Using his limited powers as a Mercury adept, he had frozen the door of a house shut long enough to escape to the branches. Vande had found out from the villagers that the boy was well-known in Kalay for his trumpet playing.

Or so they said. Vande couldn't help but stare down his nose at the boy, who smiled nervously and waited for Vande's verdict. He had played a little rendition of Grigory Mokotsk's famous _Salute to Morgal_, attempting to suck up to the golden-furred beastman. Vande had played it many years back with the Tonfon orchestra, for four hours straight… Memories, memories!

The wretched sound of a throat clearing came to his ears. The Hesperide boy was tapping his foot, smile strained, as he watched Vande daydream.

"Er… it was, ah, fine…?" Vande stuttered, unsure of how to reject him. During his travels in Morgal, beastmen musicians knew they had to have mastery of their own instrument before being taken on as an apprentice by the great maestro, or the _Muzykant_ as they called him in Belinsk. During his lifetime, Vande had only taken on one apprentice, and she… she was long gone now. In and out of his life like a piccolo's trill.

He shook his head free of the past and looked back at the young man, who seemed to be waiting for a bigger response. Vande took a breath.

"Well, you hit all the notes in a difficult piece, to be sure," he began. "You have talent. But it is lacking…" How to say this without sounding like a cliché? "It is lacking heart. It is lacking your own special twist that makes this your piece."

Oh great Sun, he _did_ sound like a cliché.

"Obviously," the boy said as if Vande was senile. "Music is what's written. You can't change music!"

So he was one of _those_ people, was he? Those so-called reformists from the west end of Belinsk, saying that music was as it was made. Before the… earlier in his life, Vande had gone undercover to a meeting of theirs and was appalled by their beliefs.

"Music is made to be changed," the beastman shot back, his golden fur rising. He was in his element now!

"Really?" the stupid child shot back. "Well, then change something for me! Go ahead!"

Vande had been waiting for this. All his life he had been a bit of a show-off, though he managed to be subtle - none of his tutors and professors at the Belinsk Opera House Academy had a single criticism after his senior year recital, when he played the bizarre Ginhok piece called _ Blizzard of the Mistreated and Ignorant_, an overture that was reminiscent of both soaring woodwinds and pots and pans being bashed together. He had heard the piece once before, with… with friends at an opera house. Yes, that was the piece he would play to prove this reformist wrong.

Vande placed his hands on the ground, willing his Light Psynergy to come to him. Seeing as he had been sent to Kolima by the Queen, he hadn't brought any musical instruments with him. He smirked. Good thing his particular brand of Psynergy was oriented the way it was.

A trailing wisp of gold went from Vande's spread-eagled palm to the grass below. It shot up the roots of one of the ancient trees nearby, and spread throughout the entire vicinity until everything was kissed by a little bit of extra shimmer. Apollo-touched was what Queen Sveta had called it, and Vande supposed that was the truth. They all had been touched by the Apollo Lens in some way, whether it was visible or not.

"So?" the boy challenged. Children these days! "We all know that the great and wonderful _Muzykant_ has been blessed with a new coat of paint on his fur. Get to the point!"

"Well, you certainly don't seem eager to be my student now, do you?" Vande chuckled. "To be a master, you must be a learner. And learning means both criticism and praise. If you cannot handle criticism, you are not fit to be a musician."

And, with a deep breath, Vande began to play the piano.

To the casual observer - such as this idiot insisting on calling himself an artist - it appeared that Vande was solely twisting his hands through the air, Vande saw a thousand musical instruments waiting to be played through his Light Psynergy. There were percussions in the tree, woodwinds in the grass, strings from the house nearby, and everything else in the air. _Blizzard_ came back to the beastman instantly, his nearly unlimited musical knowledge producing chords he had barely been able to play in his younger years. With a breath, he played one more measure, and - eighth rest - the strings came in. Eighth rest - woodwinds. Eighth rest - several different drums, hailing from Western Gondowan all the way up to Imil and Prox. His symphony was coming together.

Smug, Vande focused back into the real world, leaving his beloved instruments behind for a moment to view his adversary's reaction. The boy's trumpet lay on the grass - so did his jaw, nearly, dumbstruck at the sight before him. Vande had received similar reactions prior to this disagreement - "it's air! You can't play air!" or "It's not a real instrument if it isn't there" - and taken them in stride. He could be happy with the fact that his critics were just supremely jealous.

Vande allowed himself to get lost in the music. The three times he had played the Arangoa Prelude in his life, innocent bystanders had told him that it was the most beautiful, enticing music they had ever heard. The first time he had heard it - played on a hand-carved wooden flute by his teacher, Dimitri - he had thought so, too, butto him now, _Blizzard of the Mistreated and Ignorant_ rose even higher on the ranks.

Distracted, he slipped up on the violin two section, but turned it into a fiddling free-style, altering the tempo and the time signature to accompany his mistake. The other parts of his orchestra faded into a quiet rhythm while the string section all joined in a harmonious solo.

_It was the grand opening of the opera _Perléz and his Many Troubles, _an opera set in last century's Harapa, back when it was a kingdom in its own right. Vande, purple-furred and sleek in a fresh-pressed suit, walked stiffly through the crowd towards the Belinsk Opera House, savoring the cool air of nighttime on his body. More humanoid beastmen and women watched him in apprehensive silence as he passed by, intimidated by his animalistic look. So the suit didn't help him. Shame._

_ The lights of the Opera House glowed in an ethereal way the street lamps of his city didn't. They were warm, inviting, offering you a seat in a special box where you could converse with intellectuals of your own kind on the superb aria in act five. Offering a beautiful stage where, during eighteen-hour long rehearsals for opening night, musicians could lounge with their instruments, friends, and a cup of strong black coffee. Ever since Dimitri had taken him under his wing, Vande had been thrust into the elite circle - although he had been warned by his teacher not to mention his peasant heritage. That would get him kicked out of society faster than hitting the wrong note at a recital._

_ At the red-velvet steps leading up to the Opera House was a line of twelve humanoid beastmen carrying boxes full of tickets. Vande located the man towards the end, who held the box V-Z, and approached him._

_ "Vande, student of Dimitri," he stated. The beastman's slightly furry hand waved through the air, and, in a showy display of Jupiter Psynergy, the tickets were flipped through until one was pulled out. Thanking the man, Vande climbed the rest of the stairs and entered the Opera House proper. _

_ Taking several flights of stairs, Vande admired the opulence of the whole place, nothing like his apartment in Central Belinsk, which was a sorry, Lilliputian affair, with brick walls and no fireplace. Nothing like this grand palace of a building, more spectacular than the Palace itself, where everything was velvet plated with gold. Or platinum._

_ Standing in the mezzanine, the room leading to several of the box seats, was a group of elegant beastmen, mostly humanoid, chatting while adjusting their monocles and sipping the latest Border Town Bordeaux wine. Vande had confided in his friends from Central Belinsk all the secrets and drama of the rich peoples' lives, and this particular group - called the Mezzanines, which to be quite honest sounded like a traveling comedy act - were of great interest to them. Only they said, "the bouquet leaves something to be _desired_," or "C'est magnifique!" or "the peasantry are being quite uproarious in the square today." A bunch of buffoons really - but among the rich, most were buffoons._

_ Vande nodded a nervous greeting to them, trying to keep his cool. Buffoons or not, they were rich people with connections, and the more he appealed to them - the conductor and musician being trained by Dimitri, who had patrician's blood going back for ten generations - the better. One beastman, a wolf humanoid with a monocle, a dangling pocketwatch, and shoes that looked to be diamond-encrusted, nodded back. Vande let out a relieved sigh, and walked to the door of his usual box._

_ He sat in the second row, acknowledging Lezzo Mirani, an affluent man from Kalay famed for his lectures and essays on many operas. Unfortunately, he had written an article on _Escaleo's Journey_, a popular opera in Belinsk, criticizing it, and he had been shunted to the second row. Vande and Mirani had sat together for the past several shows, but the seat to Vande's right had been unoccupied since Cordoran LeMont, a Bilibinian aristocrat, had suffered from a heart attack._

_ Lezzo and Vande chatted amicably as they flicked through their programs._

_ "A little bird told me that Vanessa Irigiano, that girl from Tolbi, has quite the aria in Act II," the Kalayan whispered conspiratorially._

_ "I'm waiting for the quartet at the end of Act I," Vande responded, and Mirani's eyes lit up. He had always had a thing for quartets, so they began to chat. _

_ This was when Vande really enjoyed high-flying society. His friends in Central Belinsk, while he _had _known them all his life, had never gone to see a show at the Opera House. While they were artists and writers, they had no knowledge of the works of the stage. Right here, sitting in his best attire above the Belinsk Opera House, talking with another intellectual about an opera that was opening that night! Just thinking about it sent a pleasant shiver through Vande's body._

_ "Hello," a distinctly feminine voice said from behind his head. Lezzo's eyes popped open. Vande slowly turned around to see a beautiful beastwoman. She retained only the slightest of bear-like features - brown hair, lightly furry arms, and, of course, the rounded ears poking out from her head. The girl's human portion was stunning - no other world to describe it - like a statue in the middle of a grand museum. Perfect, radiant… Vande could stare for hours._

_ "I'm told this seat isn't taken?" she inquired. _

_ "N-n-n-no," Vande stuttered hurriedly, beckoning to the chair. "Please, sit right on… down."_

_ Smoothing her dress out, the beastwoman settled into her seat. _

_ "I'm Anna Vozova," she introduced herself, holding out her hand to Vande. He made to kiss it, only to find himself being vigorously shaken up and down as Anna pumped her arm up and down. "I learned that greeting in Suhalla - I've been spending a lot of time there recently, volunteering after an earthquake hit the place - and thought I'd try it out here! It's called shaking hands, what do you think?"_

_ Lezzo looked slightly put out that the girl had interrupted the conversation, but Vande would have been glad to have been discussing kitchen utensils with her, so long as to hear her melodious voice. Oh great Sun, what a glorious creature!_

_ Their voices continued to whisper, to the annoyance of their surrounding opera-goers, even after the lights dimmed and the curtains swished with anticipation. Only when the first piercing piano note hit their ears did they fall silent, listening intently to the Blizzard of the Mistreated and Ignored, hands cautiously touching the whole time._

Vande finished the piece with a single, high trill on the flute, leaving the note sparkling like dew in the air. A booming round of applause surrounded him, making him nearly jump out of his fur - surrounding him the whole time had been a plethora of people, both tourists and locals, listening raptly. The reformist boy, shamed, bowed his head, picked up his slightly dented trumpet, and left the scene. The crowd rushed up to the golden beastman, bombarding him with questions, eager to know more about the _Muzykant_. As the relentless horde encircled him, he wished more and more to be able to go back to the memories of Anna, to the thoughts of their nights walking the piers of Belinsk together, but that was not to be.

"…chosen an apprentice yet?"

Vande turned, curious. "I'm sorry?" he said to the speaker in question, a Kolima Villager with straw-blond hair.

"I said, why haven't you chosen an apprentice yet?"

His golden muzzle was tinged with red for a moment, before Vande composed himself enough to answer, "I- I did, but… the apprentice in question left."

"Left?" the same villager repeated in disbelief. "Why would anyone leave the apprenticeship of someone as great as you?"

The _Muzykant_ fell silent. He stared at the ground for what seemed like an eternal rest note, a forever pause in his piece. "They said I was too rigorous." _Too cold-hearted. Told me never to mix love with work, and look what I've gone and done now._

Vande tuned out the rest of the chatter, and finally, when the crowd began to thin, he walked away from Kolima Village, out of Saha, and turned west to go to Belinsk again.

But then he stopped. There, in the corner of his eye, stretching from horizon to horizon, was the Endless Wall separating Morgal from Sana. Behind that wall lay the city of Tonfon, which was slowly reaching back out to the beastman country due to a series of coincidences - the ruler's son being friendly with Queen Sveta, or something similar.

Once, in Belinsk Square, a little Sanan boy - barely nine or ten - had sat down right next to the stage Vande used, and began to play the flute. It was extraordinary - a wail of power that bounced around the square. Vande had considered stopping and talking with the child, but he had had a luncheon with an affluent composer, and…

He wish he had stopped. Stopped and listened, like less and less people seemed to do nowadays.

Vande turned on his heel and walked towards the Endless Wall. Boy with the flute was behind that wall. Waiting.

_()()()_

Other things wait too. A child in Contigo waits for dinner. A blacksmith in Yallam waits for the forge to heat up properly. Two royal parents in Yamata City wait for their daughter to return from her journey.

On the outskirts of the world lay many pillars of land, rising from the void, one last geological imprint of the Golden Sun event. Here, there was no sound except for the roar of Gaia Falls. To attempt to get to the pillars was suicide - even if you had a suitable boat to jump the nothing between water and land, the currents of the edge of Weyard would smash your boat to smithereens. In the earlier years after the Golden Sun, everyone from adventurers half-mad from lack of food to tourism companies attempted to reach these tiny, isolated islands, a place more novel than the ocean pillars of the Hesper Sea. The arrival of the Mourning Moon drowned out interests other than staying alive, and these defiers of Weyard's logic lived in peace once more.

East of Tundaria, that formidable icy fortress in the south, a lucky wreckage lay caught between two rocks, its prow dangling over the side of the world. The wood was rotten, but sturdy enough for a child or an underfed adult to stand on - one death-wish jump away was a large pillar, flat in landscape, and covered with grasses.

On the pillar were seven giant airships, blotches on the deep nothing skin of the void beyond. The people who patrolled the soundless grass, wearing boots of iron to protect from the gale-force winds of the Falls, were stoic and only spoke when in the incredible sound-proof airships. In a small clearing off to the side, several scruffier-looking recruits fought with swords that clanged deafly and throwing knives that didn't make a sound as they scraped through the air. The better-dressed patrollers didn't bother with such nonsense - they saved that for when they could hear one another.

Inside the largest of the great airships, looking out of a large room made out of windows, was an ancient man who needed the assistance of a cane for movement. He was alone, his most elite ranks guarding outside the door. For such matters he needed quiet.

The old man walked to one end of the glass room. Beyond the airship, beyond the edge of this little prison, was a band of pure darkness, pure, beautiful, darkness, that penetrated his soul and liquefied his reason. He didn't want to hurt anybody with his passion for that darkness - that's another reason he stayed alone for his thinking time.

He turned to the other side, where he could see the enormous Gaia Falls cascading in great arcs over the side of Weyard. Tundaria's bleak, empty landscape stared at him beyond the Falls, and beyond that the vague outline of Osenia, but what the old man really cared about was that water, pushing and sending itself into the void. What was at the bottom? _Was_ there a bottom? Where did the immense amount of water needed to sustain Weyard come from? Did the water recycle through and then come out again through some giant underground spring?

"Weyard, you are mysterious in your ways," he mused in a hoarse, dry voice, chuckling quietly. "Even I cannot predict what your next move will be. That is why we must outdo you, if we are to achieve our goals…"

The old man trailed off as something in the corner of his vision caught his eye. Hobbling away from the Weyard-window, he looked raptly at the blackness, staring at where he thought he had seen-

There! Across the way! A faint sheen of mist wobbled and wavered against the forever behind it, barely a speck on the endless horizon. As the old man watched, more mist seemed to appear - then a solitary _drip-drip-drip_ that, up in this soundproof room, cut across the silence like a knife through hot butter.

Could it really be? Were his plans falling into action?

He tapped twice on his temple, where there was a single hand tattooed on his skin. Soon he felt the airship rumble as the entire populace of the pillar gathered inside. Grabbing hold of his cane once more, the man hobbled his way down the staircase, down to a small door leading to a balcony. The balcony, which leaned over slightly, looked down upon hundreds and hundreds of eager faces, staring straight back at him.

"My people," he croaked, and they fell silent. "It has happened. It is returning, _we_ will return to our rightful place!"

Cheers echoed throughout the airship.

"We will wait until it is more developed than at the moment," he continued, "and when the world beyond the Veil is whole again, we will leave this wretched wasteland called Weyard. We will be liberated from the burden of Weyard's problems once more."

He stopped speaking, and the tongue of every Tuaparang citizen slithered over their lips, once, twice, before they all said in unison, "And then, we will take back what's rightfully ours."

The High Empyror looked at his people. They were waiting.

He was waiting.

_()()(_


	2. II

_()()()_

II

_Just remember that being stolen from is experiencing local charm._

-Feizhi, _Travels in Gondowan_

_()()()_

**Just thought I'd answer a few questions from these wonderful reviewers, namely jollygreendragon, DropOfInk, and Regal5hights. AS does mean After Sun, although historians use the term BE - Before Event- for before the sun, solely to distinguish between a historical period and a swear word. Also, Light Psynergy - rather, Sol Psynergy, as it's called by Weyard - will be explained further in this chapter, as well as why Mahel was ostracized. Thanks to DropOfInk for that grammar issue (seeing as it was around 1:00 AM when I was writing that and the Grammar Nazi within me had gone to bed) as well as Regal5hights for the double review! To all readers, whether you review or not, please enjoy!**

_()()()_

Mahel had spent the majority of his thirty years on Air's Rock perfecting his Jupiter Psynergy. Day by day, he had bared his teeth at the cruelty of fate - the moment he got such power, he found himself without hands. And who could cast advanced Psynergy with four paws?

The lycanthrope had been determined, though, and had tried hundreds of different ways. He had leapt through the air, scrabbling his paws, attempting to throw a whirlwind at his target - a rock on the edge of a cliff - and ended up nearly falling off of his home. He had tried balancing on two legs, but ended up with a giant bruise on his back from falling backwards too many times. Every time he failed, he would curse the Golden Sun.

But nowadays, he had managed to create a system of some sorts. It had come to him when he was at the very base of Air's Rock, scavenging for some edible plants in the arid climate. Amongst the fertile mountains of Garoh, there was a plant good for eating everywhere you turned - but in the middle of the desert, you could be hard-pressed to find one for days. Nearly giving up, he had promised himself to go into only one more small canyon before giving up and subsisting on lizards for the rest of the week. He had turned into the canyon - and gasped. There, on the walls, arcing from side to side, were hundreds of great pictures. Some were just imprints of hands in bronze and white, some were great pictures of lush forests and animals so unlike those Mahel had seen in the dry bush desert. Not even the forests surrounding Garoh had such creatures within them.

And the way the drawings moved across the ancient, red rock… Some, on two legs, had had their arms flung outwards - a motion that, as he was now, Mahel missed every day. Most were on four legs, and skittered across the walls of the small canyon, paws outstretched before them, teeth bared. One drawing's fur, spiked at the collar, looked almost like a lycanthrope's right when they changed, bristles running down the sides of their flanks and bushing up their tails…

The drawings jumped across his vision, everywhere now. The wolf walking on the walls, that paw outstretched, teeth bared, almost an exact copy of his father so many years ago.

Mahel had thrown his paw forward, and howled through his teeth, breath whistling through the gaps in his snarl, and before him a great whirlwind had formed, dust kicking upwards, blanketing the drawings in a sandy cloud. Eyes smarting from the particles attacking them, Mahel stumbled out of the canyon, his quest for plants forgotten. He had used Jupiter Psynergy, just like his father! Maybe, on another day, he could go back to the canyon and learn more from the drawings. Did lycanthropes live at the base of Air's Rock before something drove them out? Did they leave because they needed more food, food that couldn't be found in the desert?

But it wasn't meant to be, he thought to himself, licking his flank as the sun set before him. He walked circles and circles around the massive stone, but he never found the canyon of the pictures ever again. It was as if the earth had closed in the night, sealing off the secret of the ancient lycanthropes from discovery ever again. Mahel had begged something for further guidance, but what was to answer him? The Golden Sun? Please. That evil light never helped, it harmed the land like a sword slicing through a human's armor. Look what it had done to him.

It finally disappeared beneath the horizon, casting one final glancing light across the Hesper Sea and Atteka to the west before being swallowed by the void, to pop up behind Air's Rock another day. Long ago, a traveler from Alhafra had climbed the Rock, and when he had reached the top, he shot a lone arrow at the sky, a lone silhouette against the burning sunlight. Then he had climbed down again, and the arrow embedded itself into the rock. Mahel had left it there. He, often, had wanted to shoot an arrow at the sun.

He finished cleaning his flank and stood up, stretching, relishing the darkness. At nighttime, Air's Rock came alive. Fireflies lit up the skies around him, while lizards fled the shadows, darting into the crevices and caves that were everywhere. An owl, after catching a warning glare from the lycanthrope, flew away, hooting his indignation. When Mahel had been a cub, his father had talked with animation about the beauty of Air's Rock, how he had felt at home there. The werecub hadn't understood - yeah, it was a pretty place, but to live there would be a nightmare!

But during his time here, he had definitely come to understand Maha's feelings. He looked upon his ledge with a sort of humble pride - he, who had managed to eke out a living in a place once deemed impossible. The villagers of Garoh had assumed he had slunk away to darker pastures - to the mountains of Gondowan, where they thought he was revered as a god. Mahel barked a laugh. They honestly thought he was treated as a god? The only ones who knew of his existence were the owls and the lizards.

Mahel left his perch at the edge of the ledge, and went inside his home, where he curled up on a scrap of blanket and went to sleep. Tomorrow would bring more routine.

_ A young Mahel stumbled out of his sitting position, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Stretching his bones, he attempted to get onto his legs, wondering blearily where his father was._

_ He fell backward, rolling down a steep hill of sand, fur getting caught on numerous twigs and bushes. When he gained control of himself again, Mahel pushed upwards, looking down with horror to see four paws planted on the ground. He stared up - there was the sun, hot and dry as always. What happened? Had the change happened right when that burst of light had erupted? Was he stuck like this forever? Like Dad?_

_ Dad! Mahel looked around him wildly. He was in the middle of the Air Desert, the Balloo Mountains to the east, the imposing shadow of Air's Rock to the north. He turned to see the Devil's Gate a mile or so away. Pounding the sand with his four feet, Mahel raced up and down the rest of the dunes, leaving the desert behind, running past the signs he had put up and was supposed to take down the next morning. His paws barely touched earth as he skittered to a halt at the end of the Devil's Gate, turned to the narrow portion of the river, and leaped across. A terrified frog jumped into the water and swam for its life. _

_ There! There were the mountains of Garoh, a burst of greenery at the edge of the great sea of golden sand. Racing around them, Mahel bounced eagerly off the cliffs, running past the pool that held the reflection of the moon once a month, and into his village._

_ A shriek echoed through the village. There, in front of him, was Myha, in her human form. She dropped the bucket of water she was carrying, hands flying to her mouth._

_ "WOLF!" she screamed. "WOLF!"_

_ Startled, Mahel took a step back. "Myha, it's me! It's Mahel!"_

_ "IT TALKS!" she howled, not bothering to heed his words, and sprinted away. Replacing her were dozens of Garoh's villagers, all in human form, advancing towards him cautiously._

_ "Guys, guys, it's me, Mahel!" he assured them nervously. "W-w-what's going on?"_

_ "It _is_ Mahel," one said, and the others nodded, but didn't drop their defensive stance._

_ "Will someone answer me?" he asked. _

_ "What about you?" a man nearby shot back. "Why are you still a wolf? Did you _steal _it?"_

_ "Steal it?" he repeated in disbelief. "Steal- I- what?"_

_ "You stole your wolf body!" Myha shouted, jumping out at him from behind the men who had advanced earlier. "You stole it from your father!"_

_ "I stole it from my father…" he murmured, shaking his head. "Are you crazy? I woke up in the Air Desert fifteen minutes ago! I don't even know how I got this body! I haven't ever gone into the Rock before!"_

_ "So you say!" a man shouted, and a chorus of agreements sprung up from the whole village. "Look! Look what you've done to our leader!"_

_ And several men carried in a wizened old man. _

_ Mahel had never seen Maha as a human before. He was so… so frail. So unlike the werewolf who had saved his village from being destroyed and ridiculed so many times. And his last moments were led in the guise of a man who had not led the life he had._

_ "You never worked for your transformation!" someone yelled. "Maha gave everything he had, and you're like this all the time for nothing! You're a lazy disgrace!"_

_ More shouts. Was that his old schoolteacher, leading the crowd, screaming insults left and right? Was that his next door neighbor?_

_ "You have been touched by the Golden Sun!" Myha shrieked suddenly, silencing the angry crowd for an earsplitting second. "We don't want your kind in Garoh."_

Mahel tossed and turned in his bed. Half-asleep, he swatted at his ears, begging for the whole nightmare to disappear.

Next to his hut, a man emerged from the darkness, and seemed to be darkness. The moon was empty tonight, a perfect disguise for this intruder. Pulling a strange device from his pocket, he crept inside Mahel's house, staring with distaste at the rough, hand-made surroundings.

Cautiously, he approached the sleeping Mahel, taking care where he placed each footstep. In such hovels rocks and other obnoxious noise-makers could be lying around.

The wolf was curled into a ball now, tail-tip resting over his nose. "Just like a dog," the man snorted quietly, and passed the device over the wolf three times.

A great wind shook the house, knocking over several jars and buckets. The blanket's worn corners whipped the werewolf's sides. Tiredly, the animal rolled over onto his back. The man slunk outside, smiling with satisfaction.

"100 percent success rate," he whispered to no one. "All tests completed quickly and effortlessly . It seems our efforts here weren't wasted after all. Once my calibration comes back, I will decide upon whether he requires further testing.

"At this point, it seems more likely than not."

And the man disappeared, leaving behind only a black spot in the sky, one that would slowly enlarge, like a mosquito gorging itself on blood. He liked to leave it completely dark, not with the purple his colleagues preferred. Just black and dead as night, a hole in Weyard's sky that would eat everything nearby.

_()()()_

Vande, over the years, had finally seen how it _really _was. He had realized that the rich folk were bumbling fools who only cared about the latest wine or cheese. That the buskers on the street corners of Belinsk were more likely to be musically talented than they. That his roomies in Central Belinsk were a whole lot more interesting to talk to.

Dimitri had often said, before his death by falling chandelier, that one can't learn music by reading about it. Wasn't that the case, Vande and his buddies had laughed over a bottle of cheap wine, what with all those stupid idiots pretending to be true connoisseurs!

Of course, the beastman had grown out of cheap wine and stumbling home drunk, temporarily having forgotten your identity. He had also left behind the world of petty disagreements, of stares and judgment and coded talk that actually meant the opposite of what they had said. Over the years, after he had moved from Central Belinsk to a tiny apartment in Port Rago, he had outgrown classification like that. While in the harbor, he would play fiddle for the sailors, piano for the rich seafarers, and trumpet for the casual passerby. Sometimes he did all three at once - how, he had no idea.

_Duh,_ his inner Vande told him. _You're a genius._

That's how he had come upon his band, on the street corners of Morgal. His fiddler had been begging for food in Saha - his pianist, whistling a symphony while gardening in Kolima. His trumpeteer he had found in Border Town, sobbing after being split from his family, who were all stuck in Bilibin. He had marveled at the idiocy of Belinsk's elite - how they believed only those with money could play instruments well. These beastmen and women had been shunted to the side just for not having thousands of dollars stashed in the bank. Vande wouldn't have any of it, and just as suddenly as he had appeared in high society, he had left it. It was the talk of the Opera House for weeks - Dimitri died, and his prodigy Vande vanished! And they had been considering the boy for a conducting job too. What a shame.

And then, months later, Vande reappeared again, this time with his band in full, playing a marvelous piece in the Bronze Square of Belinsk. The rich gathered with interest, and with a grin, he had played the opening note of the Arangoa Prelude.

That first time… the Prelude was the last piece Dimitri had taught him, hours before his death, and it had been ingrained into Vande's DNA, music, flowing like golden blood through his veins. The ancient murals of his city seemed to swirl together, dancing in a trance, while the populace froze. Even the statue in the center of the Bronze Square seemed to be prancing and leaping around.

Vande sighed fondly, thinking of that memory. The band had all gone their separate ways once the Eclipse ended. Several hatched a plan to get their families out of Bilibin - several settled in Saha and Port Rago. He had continued to wander Morgal, searching for something. What that was, he hadn't known until he had played in Kolima Village. He needed an apprentice, one to pass down the knowledge of the Arangoa Prelude to. Morgal, it seemed, hadn't been able to provide one for him.

So here he stood, in the long queue to get through the Endless Wall Gate. It was a massive accomplishment, the tunnel through the Wall, and as soon as the tensions between Morgal and Sana had eased, it had reopened. Tourists, businessmen, diplomats, and people who had been separated from their respective countries poured in from both sides. Even months after the re-opening of the border, the flow of people never stopped. It was a marvel to Vande, to see the distinctive and beautiful Sanans mixed in once again with the beastmen. Earlier that year, a Sanan woman named Kyi Nau and a beastman named Piotr celebrated the first inter-country marriage on the top of the Endless Wall. Vande had played for them, in a six-man band composed of three men from Tonfon and three from Belinsk. The three Tonfonese had talent, to be sure - Vande was hungry for more. There was sure to be a talented young prodigy in the forests of Sana somewhere.

"Name, identification, and business?" A drab voice woke him from his thoughts. Standing in front of him was a beastwoman that was more beast than woman. She wore a blue coat signifying the Border Crossing Corps, and her gray bear-fur was as flat as her voice.

"You're looking lovely today," Vande said pleasantly. _Not really, you ugly piece of roadkill, _his inner Vande jeered. "Vande Kozlovsky, tourism," he answered in response to her question, opening his saxophone case and showing her his identification card and passport.

"You're not… the _Muzykant_!" she gasped in disbelief.

"Why, yes, that is what they call me," he said modestly. _Keep groveling, and maybe I'll like you more._

"I'm a big fan," she gushed, as she stamped his passport. "You're free to go. But come back to Morgal soon!"

She winked slowly and slightly lasciviously. Vande swallowed a shudder, nodded a goodbye, and went through.

The Endless Wall Gate arced all around him, a noisy, sweaty clamor of bodies shuffling between countries. The Sana-to-Morgal side walked in slow caravan lines, while the Morgal-to-Sana side seemed to be a free-for-all. Vande was caught in a vicious current of people, tugged this way and that, nearly succumbing to lack of air. Beastman security guards attempted to keep peace from platforms jutting from the stone walls, but the commotion continued on. Vande clutched his saxophone case close to him and attempted to forge forward.

"Civilians traveling to Sana please keep calm!" A security guard yelled from above. He was using Jupiter Psynergy in an advanced way, bending the wind currents so that his voice traveled farther. "A cart has overturned a mile into the tunnel, so if you will rest for a moment, the problem will be fixed and we will be able to move again! Thank you for your cooperation."

Vande and the rest of the travelers settled, only thirty feet from the gaping entrance. He could swear several travelers leaving the Gate were smirking at them.

"Excuse me, good fellow!" A voice next to Vande said, bumping into him. He turned to see a Sanan much younger than him - perhaps by thirty years - smiling worriedly and bowing profusely. "You see, my family is up ahead and I must catch up to them. Sorry, sorry!"

And he was off. Confused, the beastman stared after him, but he soon disappeared into the milling crowd. Well, Vande couldn't blame him. The whole tunnel was pretty loud and terrifying, and if he had kids in his family, he must want to keep them safe.

Then Vande realized that his saxophone case was missing.

_()()()_

Jin Fu raced through the crowds, ignoring the indignant shouts of those he pushed over. He smiled and opened the case slightly - wow! He didn't play saxophone, but he knew a beautiful instrument when he saw one. It would fetch a nifty price in Tonfon.

There were a couple pieces of paper in there too. Jin Fu fished them out - a passport and identification card. He could sell the passport to someone, it could probably be used as a fake, but ID cards were only required in Morgal. Maybe the curio shop would take it.

Jin Fu took a glance at the ID. Vande Kozlovsky. Wait, wasn't he that famous Morgalian musician! Score! The black market would give him plenty today.

The sax was gorgeous, as golden as Vande's fur. Why didn't Jin Fu recognize him? He had just seen an old beastman who looked easy enough to steal from. Maybe he could have talked with the guy a bit longer before nabbing his stuff. Jin Fu's recent foray into playing the trumpet hadn't gone so well, but maybe he'd hit gold with the sax.

Or maybe he was just musically untalented. He had been told so plenty of times - by the best teachers in Tonfon, by the buskers on the street corner, even by the curio owner. So he had begun to beg for money, until the Eclipse hit. That was when he was told by a curio shop employee that he had the fingers for pickpocketing, and that with such panic around the city it should be easy enough to begin.

The Sanan didn't like to admit it, but he was fond of stealing. The initial rush of knowing you're taking something, followed by actually doing it, followed by the rush of escaping… Jin Fu had developed a taste for small crimes, and this - the robbery of Vande Kozlovsky's saxophone - was the crown jewel.

The boy, sprinting lightly on his feet, dodged the numerous waiting travelers and ran towards the light. Almost there, almost there… Beastwomen carrying large suitcases gossiped as one attempted to calm a screaming baby… religious Sanans, heads bent, were reciting the Afternoon Prayer, as was their custom… the cart that had overturned was being righted by Jupiter Psynergy… Jin Fu passed it all and got to the final stretches of the tunnel. He was nearly there!

_()()()_

"Hey! Come back here! That's my saxophone!" Vande yelled angrily, his bark cutting over the hum of the crowd. "You! Where- wherever you are!"

"Sir?"

The beastman turned abruptly to see a Sanan guard staring at him.

"Some youngster just made off with my saxophone!" he explained. "With all of my identification as well!"

"These things happen," the Sanan said, in a poor attempt at consolation. "We will try our best to locate the thief. Do you have a description?"

_These things happen? _Inner Vande screamed. _Do your job!_

Nevertheless, the musician gave the best description to the guard that he could. The man ambled away to go talk to his fellow workers - almost like he was taking an evening stroll! Vande growled at the man's useless backside, until it disappeared into the crowd. It was obvious he wouldn't be getting any help from the officials. Time to divert the crowd's attention a little bit.

On the other side of the cylindrical tunnel, there was a particularly moldy stone built in just a foot or so above Vande's head. Concentrating, he imagined the first piece of music that came to mind, which happened to be Mirnov's _Ode to Obnoxious Noises._ As soon as the thought left his mind and entered the stone, Vande regretted it.

A horrible scraping that only _just _resembled the sound of an orchestra boomed down the hall. Panicked travelers began to flee in random directions, unsure of where the noise was coming from. A terrible crashing noise resembling pots and pans emanated from the wall Vande was pressed up against. The _Muzykant_ groaned - the piece had gotten out of control!

Hoisting himself up on a tiny ledge not made for occupation, Vande observed with a cringe the chaos his runaway music had caused. After being forced to listen to Mirnov hundreds of times by Dimitri, he was used to it, but evidently those in the Endless Wall Gate were less accustomed. The short fence dividing the different sides of the Gate had been knocked down, and currents of Sanans and beastmen more wild than those of a tsunami raced around the room. It was a disaster.

Vande frantically thought of another piece to let play from the walls - _Birds in the Springtime_? _Snow Falling Gently while I Make Tea_, that would be good, a small, pretty piece. But the beastman reminded himself that it was no good - in his effort to get to the boy who had stolen his saxophone, he had let the music run away from him. It had happened before, resulting in what was now known as the Singing Forest north of Border Town, as well as the Percussion Mountain in South Belinsk. All of them mistakes from his Sol Psynergy not being used correctly.

Instead of clearing a path for Vande, _Ode to Obnoxious Noises_ had all but closed them all. There was no ground to be seen, it was hidden under the mass of stampeding bodies. Vande swallowed a scream when he noticed an old man, unable to keep up with the panicking folk, fell to his knees. The air was becoming unusually hot and sticky, Vande couldn't breathe, oh Sun-

_()()()_

Jin Fu, at the other end of the tunnel, found his path blocked by a writhing group of Sanans and beastmen, who quickly burst out of the tunnel and poured, screaming, down into the calm Sanan countryside. More people flooded in instantly, replacing the escapees, and Jin Fu found himself dragged down by the solid mass of life surrounding him. Too many…

For a moment he was barreling straight towards the exit, when a stream of Sanans cut in front of them. Then they were flying off to the wall, stopped only from impact by a horde of screaming beastwomen. More bodies pressed up against him - furry beastmen, gasping for air, and sweat-soaked Sanans, screaming for lost relatives. It was a war zone in the Endless Wall Gate, certainly not helped by the horrid music - if you could call it that - exploding from all sides.

Jin Fu was rushed far, far away, to the center of the stampede, thrown in reverse as hundreds charged south to Sana. Screams of terror from those being crushed and cries of relief from those escaping into the fresh air mixed in with the music, a sound like that of a raging sea beast. Once again, the group of people Jin Fu was mixed in with - older beastmen that were shrieking their throats dry - surged towards the wall, where the thief saw a familiar figure. It was Vande, Vande Kozlovsky, the man he had stolen from minutes before. He was collapsed against the stone wall, chest moving in a quick and shallow motion. He was running out of air - they all were.

Pushing forward as hard as he could, Jin Fu broke free of the beastmen and ran to Vande. Miraculously, he had kept hold of the saxophone the entire time, his sweat nearly glueing his fingers to the case.

The thief reached the musician. What should he do now? He had no water…

Jin Fu slapped Vande lightly, trying to wake him up.

"Uh… Mr. Kozlovsky? Mr. Kozlovsky? Vande?"

_()()()_

"...Mr. Kozlovsky? Mr. Kozlovsky?"

"Wha…" Vande murmured, blinking his eyes open. He looked up into the face of a young Sanan - the thief! The one who stole his saxophone!

_ATTACK!_ shrieked Inner Vande. Outer Vande attempted to say the same thing - and all that came out was a hoarse cough. The air, where was the air?

"Mr. Kozlovsky, it's mayhem in here, and I know you probably hate me, but here." The Sanan tentatively handed the saxophone case back to the beastman. "I found you, fainted, right here. We need to get out, but I don't know how."

Vande dry swallowed, trying to find his voice. Rapidly, his tongue had swelled, making it nearly impossible to talk.

"Mercury…" he rasped, then broke into a cough.

"Mercury? Water?" the Sanan repeated. "But… I'm not an adept. Everyone always told me so."

"You aren't an adept unless you've tried," Vande breathed, and slunk down to the floor again, throat on fire.

_()()()_

Vande had fallen to the ground. The air was getting hotter and hotter - more and more people were pushing up against the two. Jin Fu looked around frantically - water, water. They didn't need Jupiter right now, they needed Mercury. Mercury, and fast!

Jin Fu, all of a sudden, found himself listening to the awful music. It was an abomination, and definitely the reason all of this mayhem began… it wasn't even _music_, it was just a combination of sounds. He wished it would all go away.

But wait. If he listened hard enough, if he ignored the sounds emanating from the walls, he could focus on one small, consistent flute, the high notes swept away by the force of the other instruments. It was constant, a cooling presence, barely felt yet always there. If only it was brought out more, it could make the entire room awash with its wonderful chill.

A man, howling for no good reason, charged towards Jin Fu. Others followed, the insanity of the moment rising in intensity. Jin Fu stepped in front of the unconscious Vande. Here they came, oh Sun, here they were-

_SNAP_.

The impact of the stampede never came. Jin Fu cautiously opened one eye to see the entire group frozen, ice statues before him, already melting away in the intense heat of the Endless Wall Gate.

All around Jin Fu and Vande, ice crystals and stalagmites were forming. They arced across all of the tunnel, and even the music seemed to die away. All eyes, for one long minute, were on the ceiling, while the temperature seemed to fade away in the cooling gaze of the ice.

Jin Fu didn't know how it happened, but the next thing he knew, the whole ground had frozen over. Several people, like the mini-stampeded that was about to hit him, were statues, but some were only caught knee-deep. Vande and Jin Fu were unharmed.

Slinging the beastman over one shoulder and grabbing the saxophone with the other, Jin Fu carefully walked across the ice, across the winter wonderland the Gate had become, to the end of the tunnel. To Sana, at long last.

The thief-turned-good-Samaritan had only one thing on his mind - getting out of this hellhole. He had no idea that Vande Kozlovsky would wake up later, and strike up conversation with him instantly, like they were old friends. He had no idea that the Endless Wall Gate would be closed, and a safer above-ground route would begin construction immediately.

He had no idea that, while sipping herbal tea in a café on the side of Tonfon's canal, Vande would casually say to him, "So, I've been looking for an apprentice…"

_()()()_


End file.
